Counterpane
by rcsebalm
Summary: A series of Crowley reader-inserts.
1. Paramour

_Summary: After sharing a quiet moment together, Crowley is forced to depart._

* * *

He was warm against you, the tattered ends of his overcoat draped over you in the most delicate of ways, like a blanket of a baby. His chest rose and fell against your back, fingertips dancing over your arms filling you with utter bliss, and your toes curled against his shins, teasing at the black trousers that gated his skin from yours. You were naked in his arms, legs tangled together and shallow breaths filling the comfortable silence. The feather-light caress of his fingertips almost sent you to sleep, if not for the occasional kiss he'd place on your shoulder, your head, your cheek—his salt and pepper scruff grazing against you every time—and you hummed in return, a slick tone of contentment in your voice and your lips pulled into a smile, mirrored only by his.

The sudden swing of the garage door opening yanked away the thick layer of tranquility that had nestled in your room, the deep call of your name on Dean's voice alerting you that they'd returned. You hated hiding him but Crowley pressed one final kiss on your cheek before shifting off the bed, getting ready to escape before the ire of the Winchesters caught wind of your illustrious paramour.

"Don't leave." You pleaded, barely above a whisper. Crowley adjusted his overcoat and necktie and presented a soft smile, smoothing his thumb over your knuckles when you reached out to take his hand.

"I'll be back, love." He said and you rose up to hold him, arms snaking around his neck and hands raking through his hair. You muffled an 'okay' into his shoulder and squeezed him that much tighter before releasing him… and he vanished, leaving behind no evidence that he was there beyond the love bite that resided on your collarbone.

* * *

 _Season twelve ruined me. Crowley deserved better. We deserve better._


	2. Kiss Me

_Summary: Tired of the reader's unwillingness to admit their feelings, Crowley takes it upon himself to express the attraction._

* * *

The watch wrapped around your wrist filled the deafening silence with gentle, precise ticking as you surveyed the bedroom, your eyes still adjusting to the darkness after the batteries in your torch had died. The once beautiful Victorian-like room was disgusting. Rat droppings and dust and mould carpeted the wooden floors, the stench of rotting corpses filling your nostrils, making it hard to breathe without holding back the urge to vomit. You glanced at Crowley, the demon on the other side of the decaying bed, and watched as he searched through the bedside table drawers. You weren't sure why he'd joined you and the Winchesters on this particular hunt, there was no benefit for him as far as you could tell, but, unlike Sam and Dean, you welcomed the help. At least you weren't up here on your own.

A quiet chuckle flushed through Crowley's lips and you realised you'd been staring, heat rising to your cheeks as you quickly swung open the doors to the, what you could only assume was mahogany, wardrobe. You attempted to seem oblivious as you rummaged through the few clothes hung lifelessly, searching for the elusive trinket you'd been sent to find, until hot breath hugged the nape of your neck. You fought back a shiver as you turned on your heels, Crowley's face coming into view only inches away from your own, speaking a series of words that made you fluster and you stared at the demon with raised brows and lips ajar like the dilapidated bedroom door you'd walked through only moments ago. Your brain had gone numb in seconds, struggling to process the unexpected request he'd just made, a glint of mischief swimming in his murky eyes.

"You want me to what-now?" You stammered, licking your lips only for them to dry-out again. The thumping in your chest drowned out your rushing thoughts and your eyes stayed their gaze over Crowley's lips.

He silently chortled as he glanced to the floor, your eyes following the movement, and his shifted his weight onto his other foot. "There's only so much suspense I'm willing to take, love. Kiss me." He said with honey slicked over each word.

You couldn't believe your ears. You were aware that Crowley most likely knew of your infatuation, you were a terrible actress and he wasn't stupid, but to act on them on your behalf was something you hadn't anticipated, and your heartbeat accelerated with excitement. You felt small in his presence, his eyes piercing into you, watching every breath and blink. "You can't ask me to do that." You protested.

"But you can very unsubtly flaunt your feelings around me? Charming." Your throat was a desert as he cocked his head and raised his brows in that manner that you'd grown so accustomed to, and you broke the eye contact you'd tried so hard to maintain, choosing to stare at your feet instead.

Your toes curled within your shoes as you felt Crowley's face etch closer to your own, his breath washing over your face and in a split second you raised your head up, eyes locking once again, and despite your statement and your better judgement, you found yourself leaning into him, lips barely grazing against each other. The kiss was deep, an ocean of senses drowning you: the sharp tang of Glencraig on your tongue, his unique musk filling your nostrils, the sinewed shape of his back covered in the smooth black fabric of his suit jacket, the lewd sounds of mouths opening and closes, prying on lips. Crowley's hands fell to your hips while yours wound around his neck, clawing through his hair.

"Hey, have you found it yet?" Dean's hushed voice ran through the hallway before he entered the bedroom, quickly caught off-guard by the display before him. "You've got to be kidding me."

A second pair of footsteps rushed to Dean's side at his outburst just as you pulled yourself away from the demon, and you turned to see Sam towering over his brother with a mixture of impressed and irritation scorned over his features, Dean mirroring the emotion with ease. Crowley simply smiled at the Winchesters as you meekly babbled. "Well, this is awkward."

* * *

 _This was requested by an anon with a series of prompts. I've since misplaced the prompt list. Hope you like it regardless!_


	3. Favour

_Summary: Crowley comes to collect a favour he's owed. British!Reader._

* * *

The sweet aroma of the hot mocha lifted you into a state of euphoria, and you wrapped careful fingers around the handle of the stained mug before aimlessly lifting it from the kitchen surface, your mind enraptured by the book in your other hand. You were alone, the Winchesters away on a hunt that you'd opted to stay behind for; you were, like your family before you, better suited to more academic work. Bare feet padded into the library, the heavy steps echoing in the emptiness of the bunker, and you finally took a sip from the pale mug, feeling the keen burn of the still-hot fluid flow down your throat, the saccharine flavour kissing at the tip on your tongue before the bitterness of the coffee tore over it like the sea on a stormy day. You eyed the dark liquid for a moment, the colour a lustful temptation of russet and earthy brown, before setting the cup down onto the table sitting meekly in the centre of the room, your focus resetting back to the heavy tome in your tiny palm.

"Hello, darling," an accent not unlike your own came in the form of a gruff baritone, and, against your better judgement, your lips began to curl into a smile. You turned slowly on your heels, leaning against the back of one of the chairs tucked neatly under the table, cigarette jeans clinging to your form with the motion, eyes landing on the demon before you. Adorned, as always, in pitch, the suit he loved so carefully tailored to his slightly round form and the tie, dark and decorated with decadent swirls, hung tightly around his neck. Your gaze was scrupulous as he gave a smile that would be mistaken as genuine were it anyone else, his salt and pepper beard framing the falsity as though it was a painting.

"Crowley," you said, tilting your head in greeting despite Sam and Dean's ever-intruding opinions on the matter. Becoming a hunter had not let you forget your manners. "The boys aren't here, I'm afraid—they're in Illinois, last I checked." You wound your arm behind you to retrieve the coffee from its residence, lifting it up to your lips to drag out a long sip.

"I just came by to chat." He sang as he tucked his hands into his trouser pockets, peering at you through hazel eyes. Your brows knitted together, lips agape, tome forgotten until Crowley's smile widened, cunning fabricating the seams of the gesture. Your tense shoulders slumped and you expertly flipped the page of the book with your thumb.

"You don't chat, Crowley, and I'm not doing you any favours." You stated, a venomous seasoning to your otherwise polite tone, and you found yourself jolting from your somewhat relaxed position at the realisation granted on you thanks to the tome, rushing to the kitchen to collect your phone. The powerful scent of Crowley's cologne seemingly followed you despite the demon remaining in the library—or so you thought, and you raised your head from the book to see the small device in Crowley's grip.

"You seem to have forgotten that you owe me." He cocked his head, proud of his minor feat as he twirled the phone in his hand. "So if you want to save Squirrel and Moose from whatever you're helping them hunt, I suggest you do as you're told."

Your lips pursed and you settled the half-empty mug onto the work surface, brow arched as you looked up at the King of Hell, a chill running up your spine. A few stubborn moments were drawn to a halt by a heavy huff, and Crowley triumphantly pressed your phone into your palm, leaning down to whisper darkly in your ear.

"Rescue the boys, and then you'll tell Daddy everything he needs to know about our favourite prophet."

He brushed past you, expensive dress shoes tapping away at the wooden floor before he finally made himself comfortable back in the library. A quiet but aggravated 'bollocks' left you, well aware that whatever euphoria the beverage growing cold on the surface had given you had been dashed away with little effort, and you tipped the remaining brew down the sink before dialling in Dean's number.

* * *

 _Probably my favourite Crowley one shot I've written so far. I wanted to write a British reader-specific fic because I got sick of reading fics where the reader gushes over Crowley's accent. I mean, I love it too but as a British gal mahself, I'm not exactly fainting at the sound of it, y'know? Plus, I was really craving a good mocha while writing this._


	4. Sunbeams

_Summary: Hell is starting to grate on Crowley and his only solace is you._

* * *

Through the gap between thick black curtains the sun struggled to pour through, fighting against a thickening autumn fog that had begun to settle comfortably on the frosty plain outside your bedroom window. But with a rustling of crusty leaves bouncing against the glass and the mischievous strobe of light managing to place itself just right to hit the back of Crowley's eyelids, the king was forced awake with a stir.

It was rare for Hell's King to sleep. He was a demon after all; such a chore was unnecessary and often an inconvenience, particularly when it came to running the former domain of Lucifer himself. But, on occasion, when he was allowed a little time away from mundane meetings and the fraternising of Winchesters, he always made a point to be by your side when day gave way to night. Usually you'd already be half asleep by the time he arrived, but the squeak of him removing his shoes and the ruffle of his clothes falling to the floor never failed to pull you back to the land of the awake, even if just a little. A smile would creep on your face as the mattress dipped with his weight, and you'd find yourself falling into the warmth of his hair-dusted chest as his arm gently curled around you.

Sometimes you'd make love if the sudden fire between your legs lit you awake with a bright enough spark. Others you'd listen to his day between kisses laced with whisky. Either way, you'd both fall asleep to the sound of each other's breathing, and it was a miracle that Crowley was not yet numbed to.

Last night was one of the latter, his day a particularly aggravating one caused predominantly by Sam and Dean, as well as their feathered friend Castiel, and while he had found talking a great help relieving his burdens, Crowley couldn't help that, this morning, he needed something more.

His eyes fluttered open after twisting onto his side, his back now facing the offending sunbeams that had jolted him awake in order to pull you further into him. You softly hummed, so soft in fact it was barely audible, and adjusted your own position, flipping in order to press your chest to his and sling your arm around his neck, and your thumb grazed against the shell of his ear as you gathered yourself into him, a hard feeling between his legs brushing against your thigh. A breathy moan left you, vibrating against the crook of the king's neck.

Crowley let out a husky chuckle as his hand travelled from your back to the curve of your thigh to pull your leg over his hip, grinding his crotch against yours in a drawn out motion. You succumbed to another moan, slightly louder this time as you found your voice, and your head rolled back to allow the king to suck on the exposed flesh of your throat, while his hand on your thigh began to make a tingling line to the hem of your underwear. You were pleasantly surprised by the sudden abrasion of his fingernails against the sensitive skin of your rear once his palm had dived behind the lacy fabric, and you drove your fingers through his hair in response, gently tugging every time his hands squeezed a part of your body.

With a light whimper you pulled your head forward and caught Crowley's lips with yours, the kiss deep and unrelenting as you ran your tongue over his bottom lip. But you didn't stay there. The embrace of your lips was cut short, replaced by the peppering of kisses and nibbles across Crowley's jawline, his salt and pepper scruff scratching at your skin in the best of ways.

Completely occupied, the King of Hell was unaware of one of your hands trailing down his chest until it began toying with the waistband of his boxers, the material as black as the bed sheets and just as soft, and he lightly bucked his hips in response. His name danced along your tongue as your fingers finally dipped beneath his underwear. You were quick to begin brushing your lover's erection in slow, tempting motions, purposely avoiding the tip just so you could hear a heavy growl of provocative words and noises in your ear.

His shoulders beneath your free hand were tense, and even in your somewhat sleepy state you were aware of his needs. Hell was starting to weigh heavily on him, more than it had ever done in the past, and antics like this were becoming more common as a result of stress rather than out of love and affection.

The king managed to catch you in a kiss once again and he had little intention of letting your lips leave. He shifted just enough to lean over you, a silent reminder that he was in control, and you were so emotionally overpowered by a single action that you were unable to register that his hand was no longer on your rear. A quick flick of his finger across your clit changed that, and—powerless to release your mouth—you were forced to whine into the kiss, bucking your hips against his.

You only parted when you needed to breathe, and then your mouths quickly reattached.

The sequence continued, of capturing kisses and a cocktail of soft caresses and hard presses against each other's most sensitive places, the room permeated with the risqué rhythm of crude noises and heavy breathing. Your vocals were beginning to pick up in pitch and pace as you felt yourself nearing your orgasm, and the grating of Crowley's hips, and your hand quickening its tempo around his cock along with his own sounds of sexual pleasure was only escalating you both to your releases.

You bit down hard on your bottom lip before shakily calling his name. "Crowley!" His free arm wrapped tighter around your shoulders, as if it were possible to pull you any closer into him, and yet you mimicked his action, clawing at his back as best you could. With quickening breaths and your name in the air, the floodgates of Crowley's release opened, and for a moment his patterned exertion against your clit faltered. He shivered above you, chanting your name like it was going out of fashion and a swift flick of your hips reminded him you hadn't come undone yet.

The circular motions of his fingers resumed and the knot at the pit of your stomach began to tighten until finally it snapped. The moan that was torn from your vocal chords was entirely involuntary as you came, legs quivering as your core convulsed, your orgasm wracking through your body like a bull seeing red, and it was hard to control your breathing. You continued to stroke Crowley's member as you both rode out the waves of your release before you both felt your muscles relax once more, collapsing into the comfort of the mattress beneath you.

Crowley's hand stayed where it was, forcing an uncontrollable twitch every time the tips of his fingers feathered over your pearl again. You couldn't bring yourself to remove your own hand, covered in the sticky, white remains of his orgasm, and a gentle smile graced your features before you grazed the tip of your nose against his again.

As you listened to his breathing, you could feel that the tenseness in his shoulders had gone, and you were relieved to know he'd finally shaken the troubles of yesterday. A series of knocks, as if on cue, pounded against the heavy wooden door behind you, and a small, nervous voice spoke from the other side. "Sire, you have a series of contracts to approve and several more events that require your attention."

The king huffed.

"Don't." You pleaded the word barely above a whisper. Crowley looked from you to the door to you again.

"Sire?" The demon questioned.

Crowley rolled his eyes and glared at the door. "Yes, yes, fine." He looked back at you with an apology in his eyes. "I'll be back later."

"It's lonely here without you." You muttered before you rolled onto your stomach, feeling empty as the warmth of his hands left you. You could only watch helplessly as he dressed himself in his usual suit of black and readied his self for the day, no doubt to return to your bed tired and stressed once more.

Knowing you were alone tore at the remaining pieces of humanity within him and his chest tightened. One day soon he was going to leave Hell behind. But until that time came, he'd have to continue on, returning to you only when it suited Hell or the Winchesters.

"I know, pet." He planted one last kiss on your cheek and walked out of the door, giving the interrupting demon hell as he walked away.

One day soon, the only thing to disturb his unnatural slumber would be the sunbeams. One day soon, he won't leave you alone in the mornings.

* * *

 _This fic gives me feels, ngl. First time writing Crowley smut, right when my obsession with the King returns. Takes place sometime during season twelve._


	5. Bubble Bath

_Summary: Sam and Dean have finally found a way to rise a new kind of anger within you. To take your mind off it, you run yourself a bath, and Crowley enjoys distracting you._

* * *

With a sputter, hot water blasted out of the dull tap and you huffed as you began to strip yourself out of your bloody clothes. You'd had enough of the Winchesters and their patronising words for one evening. With your shirt and jeans on the floor, you shimmied out of your underwear and tossed your bra at your ankles, kicking the lump of cotton and blood into the corner before squirting an unnecessarily large amount of bubble bath into the tub. You knew you'd regret it later when a urine infection invaded your privacy, but your anger was loud enough in your ears that it drowned your logic in the near-boiling water that was amassing in the bath with too much ease. Normally you were content with Sam and Dean's over-protective behaviour; you'd practically adopted them as your brothers, after all. "It's no skin off my nose," is what you'd usually tell yourself.

But today... today was the straw that broke the camel's back.

You dipped your elbow in to check the temperature. The skin bloomed into a wonderfully dark pink when you pulled it back, the heat biting into every molecule. What could you say? Apparently, today you were a sucker for punishment. The roar of the running water came to a squeaky stop as you rotated the tap, the spiteful part of yourself turning it extra tightly just so one of the boys would struggle next time the tub was used. Of course, you knew it wouldn't work. _But that wasn't the point._

It was supposed to be your average salt n' burn; a woman in white was causing mass hysteria in a tiny town somewhere in the middle of nowhere in Idaho. Suspicious, the lot of 'em, and naturally, things didn't flow as well as the water did as you dipped your feet in, the heat nipping at your cool skin like a thousand needles. It was no easy feat, saving the damsel in distress, fighting off a ghost, choking on the surprise appearance of a witch, and rescuing your unconscious brothers simultaneously. But you'd managed, and you were proud enough to say with only a few cuts and a beautifully large bruise wrapped round your neck like jewellery.

And a target on your head, issued by Sam and Dean Winchester and their parliament of two.

You winced as you sank deeper into the miniature ocean around you, a thick layer of bubbles surrounding you like servants would a king, and you scooped up a handful just to blow the pearly foam into the air.

"Hello, kitten,"

Your eyes didn't shift as you blew yet another lump of foam at the wall, the ball falling in a clumsy sort of arc before plummeting into the beige tiles no harder than a discarded feather would hit the pavement. In an attempt to acknowledge this new audience, you simply hummed in response.

"Squirrel and Moose have their knickers in a bunch. When I inquired as to why, they told me I should ask you."

"Did they now?" You replied. _Of course they'd play the blame game._

Crowley could sense your quelled fury, and you could feel it bubbling at the back of your throat. You were a time bomb, and neither of you really knew when you were going to blow. The boys had finally wriggled their way under your skin. Crowley expelled a blow of air though his nostrils, and the steam that filled the room shifted like leaves in a summer breeze. For several moments there was silence before his black coat was shed, to be hung on the back of the bathroom door, followed by his suit jacket.

With steady breaths, you watched as he pulled up a nearby stool, and sat his self down as he placed his elbows on his thighs.

"Tell daddy all about it."

It wasn't a suggestion and you felt your face flush with a newfound redness at the dominating echo in his voice. But you were stubborn, and you simply turned your back on the demon king. It was hardly comfortable, having to cross your legs to adapt to the new position, and the edge of the bath dug into your spine. Crowley said nothing, only shifting closer to you, and the stool scraping against the linoleum floor in a way that, normally you wouldn't care about, only seemed to rile you up more now.

You clenched your jaw. Bit at the skin on the inside of your lip. Picked at your fingernails. Crowley placed gentle hands on the seething skin of your shoulders, and you overflowed.

"They are the most ungrateful, self-centred, obstinate assholes I've ever met! I save them and the girl, kill the witch, burn the bones, and what do I get? "Don't ever put yourself in danger like that again!" – I've been hunting for five years, pretty fuckin' sure I know how to handle a witch and a cranky old ghost, my God!" A splash of water leapt into the air as your fist collided with the surface. "And they ran in like a bull in a china shop, holding their dicks—sorry, angel blades—in the air with no care in the world. No wonder they then collided head first with the fuckin' wall. How they didn't die from that, I don't know!" You stopped only to take a breath. "And Dean cares more about that damn car than he does himself—first thing I got when they woke up was: "you got blood on the seat, damn that's gonna stain." Bitch please! And another—what on earth are you doing?"

The words you spilled came to a quick stop when you found yourself shivering. Not from the cold, but from the indescribable amenity that came from Crowley's fingers in your hair, scraping a thick coat of shampoo through your scalp and down to the tips of each strand. He stopped mid-massage, and you immediately began to miss the sensation.

"Is the king not allowed to wash his lover's hair when she's had a bad day?" He chimed with a teasing sort of glee, and you pressed your bottom lip between your teeth as he planted a kiss on the curve of your shoulder.

Crowley took your smile as a cue to continue, and your eyelids drooped and your head leaned back. His fingers were magic, working their way from your hairline to the nape of your neck with meticulous care. You loved having your hair played with, but never had you thought that something like this would make you tingle in all the right places. It wasn't long before a moan was pulled from your chords.

"Turn around, pet."

You didn't need to be told twice as you slowly shifted into your original position, keeping your eyes closed as a torrent of water rained over your head, the suds slipping into the soapy pool around you. The bubbles were quickly dissipating from the surface and your fingers were starting to prune, but the water was still warm against your aching limbs, and you started to realise just how much the fight had taken its toll on your body.

You were expecting another massage after the rinse, conditioner pressed between Crowley's fingers, but instead you were greeted by a sweet softness like rose petals, against your lips and you pushed into the kiss, fuelled by eagerness and a heat even hotter than the bathwater that sat between your thighs. You were prickled by his salt and pepper scruff as Crowley parted your mouth with his, his tongue darting to explore you as his hands pressed onto your shoulders to keep you in place as he deepened the kiss.

When you finally parted, you finally got a good look at your boyfriend since he'd arrived. He looked weary, like his day was just about as bad as yours had been, yet he'd gladly given up his problems to listen to yours, and you felt your chest tighten.

"Better?"

"Much." You reply. You were only half truthful. You were definitely going to have a sit down with Sam and Dean. But, for now, Crowley had lightened the load, and that was more than enough. "Wanna tell me about your day?"

"I've something else in mind." He smirked. His pupils were black holes, swallowing the murky green of his irises as he glanced from your lips to your naked chest to your eyes again.

You push yourself up to kiss him again, a quick peck just to keep him on his toes. "Let me finish up here. You can help me moisturise." You finished with a sly grin that Crowley reciprocated, watching as his leaned up to retrieve his jacket and coat. With his hand on the doorknob, he gave you another glance, licking his lips as you pulled your hair over your shoulder to reveal the expanse of your back.

"Don't be long." There was that echo of domination again. And you had every reason to comply. All the bubbles had disappeared anyway.

* * *

 _Came up with this idea and thought it was super cute. I've had some trouble motivating myself to write recently, but this came fairly easy to me. I think it helped that I had "Soap" by Melanie Martinez playing on repeat!_


	6. Remember, Remember

_Summary: It's date night and Crowley surprises you with a trip. British!Reader._

* * *

Palpitations rumbled from the ground, up to your feet and through your chest as explosion after explosion decorated the sky in multicoloured sparkles of light, the thudding bass of the music only adding the urge to dance on the spot beneath the smoky heavens. In the corner of your eye, you caught the never-fading peach glow of the bonfire as it chewed away at wood pallets and any leaves that had the misfortune of being blown into its heated grip, the twenty-foot flames deliciously licking at the air to chase away the tornado of embers above it. You lifted your head up and to your right and watched as Crowley's face was lit up with a plethora of hues, painting his face like a watercolour. You couldn't help but be enchanted by the way he stared up at the lights. His eyes were heaven's mirror, beautifully replicating the fireworks as they bloomed with a bang. The smell of ash and smoke was starting to fill your lungs and you coughed; it was then that Crowley's attention shifted back to you and you were thrown back into the consciousness that the two of you weren't alone, but drowning in a sea of people nearing the mid thousands.

Despite the sudden self-consciousness, your gaze remained fixed on the demon king. The music shifted beat again, another song began to play and the fireworks adjusted accordingly, spinning like ribbons and shooting across the sky like stars in colours of silver, blue and red. You slyly shuffled closer to the king as dragon's breath pooled from your lips. "Thank you for bringing me here." You had to shout above the cheers and music, and the shimmer of red across your face was not from the fireworks as you looked back up at the sky to watch a particularly large explosion burst. "Living in America all these years, I don't remember the last time I celebrated Bonfire Night."

Crowley pulled his hands out of his coat pocket to wrap it around your shoulders and pull you further into him. "You're welcome, sweetheart." You snatched a glance at him and leaned your head on his chest. A thin layer of smoke had begun to settle in the air but it only seemed to add to the ethereal sensation fireworks always gave you.

When he'd approached you in the bunker only half an hour ago for your weekly date night, you had no idea why he'd told you to wrap up excessively warm and wear your most practical (and comfortable) boots. It was a particular shock to you when you took his outstretched arm and suddenly the world went black, except for the sporadic colours of rollercoaster rides and food stands, and he chuckled when you recognised the festival from when you were only small and realised the reason it was so dark was because England is six hours ahead of Kansas. You'd pulled him into the hardest embrace the two of you had ever shared, and it took him off guard but you only held on tighter, whispering an emotional "thank you" in his ear.

"Did you celebrate it back in Scotland?" Your curiosity got the better of you, despite knowing Crowley's past wasn't a fond topic for him. But you were surprised to see a slight grin on his face.

"A little." Clearly it was a topic for another day, and you returned with a knowing smile.

Moments past as you both stood in comfortable silence, drinking in the atmosphere, until you felt Crowley move against you. The rosy skin on your face suddenly went warm as a plume of air pushed against it, and you slowly turned. Crowley had leaned down, his lips close to your own and suddenly the world began to slow. For several seconds he stayed there, a mere inch away from you, and you clenched your toes within your boots to keep yourself patient. He closed the gap with a snap, his lips pressed hard on yours and his stubble poked at your skin. With your back still against his chest, there wasn't much you could do beyond reach your arm up and wrap your fingers around the back of his neck, but it was more than enough of an action for Crowley to deepen the kiss.

A cacophony of bangs and fizzles and crackles all driving to a crescendo filled your ears, but you were so fixated on the warmth of Crowley's face and the smell of his cologne that you no longer cared for the gaiety that you'd only last encountered when you were seven years-old. Your heads moved in perfect synchrony as his tongue snaked into your mouth, and you only parted when the music ended with a symphony of violins, only to be succeeded by the roaring cheer of the crowd. The night sky returned as the last few fireworks fell into a shower of golden glitter. Your fingers grazed across Crowley's face and you caught the short hairs of his beard in your fingernails.

"Remember, remember the fifth of November." You mumbled, smiling with your lips pursed.

"Oh, I have a feeling you won't be forgetting this one for a while." Crowley retorted with a mischievous glee, a smirk on his face that only came out when he had a plan in store, and you fought back an excited shudder as the two of you started to flow with the departing crowd.

* * *

 _Happy bonfire night/Guy Fawkes Day! I went to a festival last night that hosted some pretty feckin' awesome fireworks and I was inspired to write something for it, so this is a little dedication to my fellow British Crowley fans! It's not the best work I've done, I could only sit down and write for a few hours so it's had minimal editing done, but I hope you like it regardless._


	7. Breathless

**Breathless**  
 _moonlustre_

* * *

 _Out of the bath and into the bedroom, Crowley and the reader release some gathered tension. Sequel to Bubble Bath._

* * *

Crinkled fingertips tapped against the dark wood of your bedroom door, slowly pushing it open to reveal Crowley sat on the edge of your bed, in a chrysalis of shadow within the dim light of your room. A vague sort of smile was on his features, with his legs crossed and an arm resting on his knee while the other palmed fresh bed sheets. His eyes were crystalline as they flickered up to silently greet you while tracing the outline of your dewy curves, your skin speckled with pearls of water where the pallid towel wrapped around you couldn't cover. The piece of material was tiny around you, the hem barely covering the junction of your thighs or the dark circles of your breasts, and Crowley had quickly devoured your appearance as he wet his lips.

You leaned against the frame of the door and tangled your fingers through the sopping strands of your hair. "I wasn't too long, was I?" You purred, blinking at a leisurely pace.

Crowley rose from the bed to nonchalantly step towards you, shoving his hand into the pockets of his neatly pressed trousers, and you swallowed when he stopped several centimetres before you, forcing you to look up just keep eye contact, and the seven inch height difference was just another log to be thrown into the fire that fuelled the excitement that sat at the pit of your stomach. Without even trying, he'd cornered you, paralysed you in place just by the way he towered over you, and dominated you in as many steps as you had fingers on one hand.

"Not at all, love." The words were low and barely above a whisper, somehow highlighting the gruffness in his voice even further, and an exuberant amount of sensations enslaved you, urging you into action and all sense of impeding the inevitable was discarded.

Damp hands dived for stubbly cheeks, and with little warning Crowley was pulled into a kiss. He couldn't deny that the action was unexpected; he'd anticipated a series of perverse banter and severe teasing before passion took the reins, but he wasn't disappointed by the sudden lack of etiquette the two of you usually displayed in your sex life. On the contrary, he was just as famished as you were, and he was quick to start tangling his tongue with yours, tasting the tang of peppermint as he completely took over your mouth.

Crowley's scent had intoxicated you, a strong aroma of whisky, cologne and a hint of sulphur, and you were so dizzy you barely registered when he wrapped his arms around you to pick you up in a motion not unlike a dance, moving you so he could shut the door with an impatient slam. Your world was idyllic as your backbone collided with the now-locked slab of wood, and your hands were removed from Crowley's face to be pinned above your head, his fingertips kneading your wrists while his free hand cupped your chin. You broke the kiss to softly moan, taking the moment to catch your breath before your lips were captured once again.

Your mind had become completely devoid of anything beyond this moment, your earlier anger at the Winchesters entirely forgotten as you let your king completely enrapture you. He was a dominant soul. You could only guess what had transpired in his kingdom during your hunt to have left him so vexed, but you were completely aware that what Crowley wanted and needed right now was to feel in control. His arousal was palpable, tracing lines as soft as lace down your side to the curve of your thigh, and he tugged on the limb to raise it and latch it onto his pelvis. Another moan broke the silence and you bucked your hips into his, and your name fell on his lips, so husky and smooth like caramel. Hair-dusted fingers ran down the lithe length of your thigh to bury themselves beneath the hem of your towel, and Crowley examined your face for any change. If there were words, you were choking on them, and you could only lean forward to rub the tip of your nose with his, and Crowley knew what this meant, eagerly pressing his mouth on yours as one finger dipped inside your soaked folds.

Kisses were peppered from your mouth to your jawline to the crook of your neck as the lone finger teased the bundle of nerves between your legs, movements so slow you were ready to combust, and you allowed your head to lean back to give Crowley better access. That's when the biting began and the room was filled with a myriad of moans as Crowley's teeth grazed against your collarbone, leaving little marks of varying degrees of severity as he sucked and teased every molecule, slyly adding a second finger against your clit to force your voice up an octave. But it was for naught and his hand left as quickly as it came, his head moving away from you to admire the tessellation of love bites he'd marked you with as they merged with the necklace of bruising you'd acquired from your hunt.

With his chest no longer against yours and with nothing else to hold it together, the towel peeled away from your torso to leave your body bare for the demon king to absorb. Your wrists were freed from their prison as Crowley slowly fell to his knees, and he pressed scratchy kisses and feathering fingertips down your cleavage and stomach until he sat between your legs. Your thigh on his shoulder and his hand on your hip, he stared at your sex with unyielding appetite, admiring the thatch of hair covering the pink pearl he'd just been teasing. Without a moment's thought, you open your legs ever so slightly wider, and he knew he didn't need a further invitation, using two fingers to gently pull your lips apart.

It started with a kiss; tender and sweet that made you flinch and immediately dig your hand into Crowley's hair. You could only look ahead, your blurred vision barely able to take in any of your surroundings, but you just knew he was smirking, filled with masculine pride. What followed was a lick, short and sharp with the tip of his tongue and you sank you teeth into your bottom lip with painful force as your breathing became unsteady. Another caress, languid and with the flat of his tongue, and you didn't need anyone to tell you just how engorged you were, just how soaked. You whimpered, silently begging Crowley to just get on with it.

But the king was enjoying himself greatly.

He sank just a little deeper, enough to barely drag his teeth against you. He couldn't get enough. He could feel himself throbbing against his trousers; you weren't the only one begging for a release. But Crowley needed this. To once again have the control that he knew he was losing in Hell, like sand slipping through his fingers. Another soothe, another whimper, another beg, and another twitch of his cock. It was a repetition that went on and on until you were on the brink as fingernails dug into skin and lewd noises permeated the air, and Crowley had become drunk on the noises and the sweet taste of you. You could see your orgasm amidst the fog of pleasure that had settled over your eyes, an ocean you were desperate to even just dip your toes into, and you began to shiver with the anticipation, the heat in your legs blooming to other parts of you.

"P-please!" You cried, unable to cope with the relentless taunting, and like magic, the teasing stopped, to be replaced by the swirling of his tongue against you with a vibrating grunt that made you see stars. You couldn't take it anymore, shakily chanting Crowley's name, and in return, Crowley's pace quickened, and your toes curled and your fingertips went numb. The intensity was ineffable and you were thrown into a rhapsody until you finally found yourself falling into that ocean, and your orgasm hit you with a potency you'd never experienced before. You were left speechless, breathless—drowning on the waves of your orgasm.

Crowley gave you no warning as he stood up, keeping you steady by keeping his hands clutched on your shaking thighs. He ran his tongue over his bottom lip with a smirk and boosted you up, your legs locking around his hips and your arms around his neck. "Crowley…" you murmured while fiddling with the button on his collar, not quite down from your high yet but desperate to see more of him, and he loosened his tie, carelessly throwing it on the floor whilst you'd managed to undo several buttons of his shirt, and promptly begun to nip and suck at the newly exposed flesh, in love with the feeling of his beard grating against your neck as you bejewelled his skin with marks of ruby red. Expertly, Crowley released his erection from his trousers and aligned himself with you, pushing you further into the door, a loving glint in his eyes. You only had to return it with a seducing smile and you were filled with his length.

There was nothing slow or teasing as you vigorously made love, his face buried into your neck and your fingers clamped onto anything they could grab on to as he pounded into you, a repetitive swerve of his hips that hit you in the perfect place every time, threading heightening moans from your lips with too little ease for you to admit. The knot in your stomach was beginning to tighten once again – you weren't going to last much longer, and by the sounds Crowley was making in your ear (edging you even closer to your release), the king wasn't far from spending himself either. His voice had begun to waver, his breath becoming locked in his throat, and his thrusts hit you harder with a delightfully forceful precision.

"Come for me, kitten. Come for daddy." Crowley slurred before nibbling on the lobe of your ear, and the knot snapped. You threw your head back as you allowed your orgasm to rock you, and within seconds Crowley followed your lead and he bucked his hips into you one final time, forcing you up the expanse of the door an inch or two.

The two of you remained there as you recovered from your highs, heavy breaths forced through the silence. Slowly your muscles relaxed and Crowley pulled out of you, but kept his head attached to your shoulder, peppering gentle kissing along your neckline. "You have no idea how much I needed that." You mused, your voice a little croaky from overuse as you played with your lover's hair, the strands soft and slightly damp from your own still-wet locks.

"No, darling, I do." Crowley purred. He ran his hands over the bruise on your neck. "Bloody Winchesters…"

You sighed and leaned in to peck several kisses on his lips, each one harder than the last until you were gently tugging on his bottom lip. It was then that three precise taps against the door caught you off guard and you glanced from the door to the king and back again, your lips pursed in irritation. Crowley plucked you from your place against the door to drop you onto the cool sheets of your bed, your towel falling from your body and onto the floor, forgotten. You watched intently as he tucked himself back into his trousers with a huff, before he opened the door just a slither.

"If you two are done, she and I need to talk." You couldn't see the offending visitor, but you recognised the voice well enough to know it was Dean and you sighed. He couldn't even use your name? _Mature._

Crowley turned back at you, drinking in the luscious lustre of your body lazily spread across the bed. He turned back to Dean with a mischievous smirk. "Sorry, Squirrel, but we're far from done. Get bent." Dean wasn't allowed to offer any sort of rejoinder as the door was shut in his face, and he simply gave an irritated roll of his eyes as he overheard loud giggles resounding from your room, walking away to grab a beer.

* * *

 **Author's Notes**  
 _This has been sat on my hard drive for so long._  
 _I kept putting off posting it because I wasn't really that happy with the result,_  
 _but I really can't be arsed to mess with it. I haven't re-read it through so apologies for any mistakes!_


	8. Candlelight

**Candlelight**  
 _moonlustre_

* * *

 _The reader receives a mysterious message from Crowley that takes her to a small hotel in the middle of nowhere—the place where they first met._

* * *

Smooth palms slid over the cherry wood mantelpiece as rain chilled the air outside, the droplets leaving a delicate pitter-patter against the windowpane only a few paces away to your left. It was hardly the New Year's Eve everyone had been hoping for—the drizzle thick enough to drench you to the bone in seconds, leaving you shivering within your skin as you hurried from the car to the hotel lobby only moments earlier. Candlelight decorated along bedside tables and dressers flooded the room with a glow of gold, and you would've felt almost regal if not for your dripping tresses and trembling knees. Yet the fireplace remained dry and unlit.

Your mind wandered to the burning text you'd received only an hour ago. You remembered the panicked urgency, the screeching of your tires as you swung your car around still vivid in your memory. You pressed your lips together in a thin line as you reread the string of words, short and precise, in your head, before your fingers fell from the wood to the black bag sat on the patterned bed sheets. Surely you had the right time, the right room? The sound of the zipper of your bag parting grated against your teeth, and you began your search for your phone—the little device as elusive as ever.

"Hello, love." Bent over, rustling through your belongings, you hadn't noticed the man dressed in black appear before you, and your heart leapt into your throat. Eyes big and scared as you lifted your head, alert at the presence, but your raised brows fell when the sight before you sank in.

Crowley was pressed against the magnolia walls, hunched over, his arm wrapped around his stomach and nursing his side. "What the hell happened?" Your voice shuddered, and the bag was forgotten as you leapt around the bed to Crowley's side. A million things ran through your head as your eyes danced along the demon's bloody figure.

"I think you mean 'what in hell happened,' darling," he stated with a pained but sarcastic smile. The muscles in his jaw tensed as he clenched his teeth together.

You scoffed and laced your arm around his waist, careful to avoid the wound dripping into the plush, cream carpet before carrying him over to the bed. He smelled of whisky and sulphur, the scent filling your nose and almost overpowering the blood on his hands and clothes. Crowley pulled in a sharp breath as he sat down, the edge of the mattress dipping beneath your weight when you joined him, and his face scrunched, baring his teeth. This man—this demon—was still a mystery to you, despite your on-again-off-again relationship. He hid his flaws well beneath sarcasm and sass and Armani suits.

Crowley flashed you a suggestive look when you began to tug off the expensive jacket, his brow arched and his lips curled; the angle just right to hide the bulb of crimson blossoming in the corner of his mouth like a rose. "You know I like a woman who takes charge," he teased.

But you weren't in the mood for witty banter. While your love life (if you could call it that) was rocky, Crowley was still a good friend to you. Yet here he was, after leaving a message to meet him in a mid-range hotel, jesting as he bled on your favourite jeans. You hardened your gaze until you thought you were going to turn to stone.

"Hm, tough crowd." He rolled his shoulders and cocked his head as you shed him of his jacket, tossing it onto the floor without much care despite Crowley's reactions—acting as if you'd just thrown away a new born baby.

You rolled your eyes. "Oh hush, you can always get another. It's not like you buy them," you scorned, tangling your fingers around his tie to loosen the knot, and eventually throwing that on the ground as well. "I've got some supplies in the bag. Dental floss, vodka, that sort of thing," you rose up to pluck the bag from behind you, "take your shirt off while I get it all ready."

The demon said nothing, doing as he was told. It seemed you were the only one he obeyed without much protest. Why? You didn't know, and in moments like this, you couldn't say you cared. Instead, you ignored his grunts and winces to pull out a washcloth, half a bottle of vodka, a cracked box of needles and some dental floss from your bag, calmly arranging them along the bed like a surgeon preparing his tools. You'd done this too many times before, on yourself mostly, and a number of hunters you'd worked with over the years including the Winchesters... but never on Crowley (or any other demon for that matter).

The room was silent beyond the heavy splatter of muffled rain, making it easy to hear the weighted drop of a blood-soaked dress shirt falling to the floor. Slowly, you turned around, washcloth saturated in vodka and the view of Crowley's meat-suit before you, wide shoulders and hair-dusted chest bear. It was simple to gauge the size and depth of the wound now, and you frowned at the all-too-easily recognisable gash. You flicked your eyes up to Crowley, watching as he sank his teeth into his bottom lip in a slow motion that made you feel a little dizzy.

"Stop it." You dropped to your knees on the carpet, the feeling of damp jeans against your skin made you inwardly shudder. You etched closer to his side, leaving behind a little trail of crimson blotches, before applying the cloth to this gash with a pressure harder than necessary.

"Ff—ah!" Crowley flashed you a perturbed glance. "I see you're still angry."

"You know I'm still angry," you responded between clenched teeth to fight the urge to either lash out or cry.

"Yet you came when I called. I always did have that effect on you," he proclaimed with a grin. Your eyes remained fixed on the laceration but you could hear the jested pride in his voice, the glee that sparkled in his murky green eyes easy to envisage. But the statement rang true to you, despite his reference to something far more personal. And unwarranted. Why did you come? You were halfway to Utah, driving double above the speed limit for a case. But as soon as you read the words webbed together by Crowley's fingertips, you'd turned around without a second thought.

"Why here?" It was the closest you'd been to him in so long. Six months, was it? Eight? You couldn't recall. No wonder his actions, his voice and even his smell made you woozy. He was fine wine in a crystalline glass, and you a recovering drunk desperately pressed against the window of a high class bar. You looked up at him, longer than you had done since he arrived. His beard was longer than last time you met, speckled a little more with silvery strands. Dishevelled hair stuck out at all angles but was still the same you were used to. His eyes were the hardest to recognise. Tired, like they'd seen too much.

"No reason." His voice was gruff and hoarse, and your face hardened again.

"Last time you lied to me, I told you to get fucked, Crowley," you sharply threatened, and you pursed your lips together.

The demon laughed as best he could without aggravating his injury and brushed his hand along his jawline. "You did more than that, kitten."

"Well if you remember it so well then why do you carry on? Lie down." Satisfied that the bleeding had stopped, you lifted yourself up. The washcloth was discarded atop the messy pile of Crowley's clothes before you readied the sterilised needle and floss held daintily between your fingers.

Crowley had shifted to lie on his uninjured side, his head propped up by his hand, the mattress dipping beneath his elbow. A pert smile touched his lips. "Paint me like one of your French girls."

"I hate that movie," you blankly retorted, your nose crinkled in disgust.

You wasted no time tucking the needle beneath Crowley's skin, threading the laceration together with acute precision. The rain only swelled, battering heavily against the glass and creating trickling shadows along the walls.

"So an angel blade," you chimed with a forced smile, "and in Hell, no less. Do I even want to know the details?" Crowley peered at you like you'd gone mad, flicking between your hands tendering to his wound and your arched eyebrow, a hint of a smirk tugging at the corner of your lips. Answering his unasked question came naturally to you. "I've seen a lot of shit, Crowley. Figuring out that it was an angel blade that did this is easy."

He rolled his eyes and adjusted the angle of his head slightly, staring at the wall in front of him. "Abaddon's lot. Let's leave it at that, pet."

"And the text? You didn't send that because you were in trouble, did you?" He said nothing in return. "Come on. A nice hotel, New Year's Eve, candles... what the hell is this?"

You gave one final tug on the floss, tying it not too tightly into a knot and snapping off the needle with your teeth. Crowley pushed himself up to admire your work. It was clean, precise and almost even professional.

You were starting to lose your patience. You had a war of emotions battling within your head and your heart, your chest tight. You still couldn't decide whether you wanted to kick him or kiss him or push him out the window; to scream or cry. A part of you was angry at yourself for coming so readily when he called, like a dog to its own vomit; for cleaning him up so wilfully. But you missed him, missed his presence, his laugh, his wit.

You huffed. It was the only way you could breathe without the knot in your throat loosening, which would've only ended in you choking on your tears. "You're a demon, I get it. It's my own fault I fell for you; it was just sex after all. But what you did was low, even for you." Your voice was starting to break; your bottom lip quivered just enough to somehow make your eyes start to sting.

"I texted you to apologise," he murmured, barely audible in the thickening air. "I'm sure the Winchesters told you about their plans to close Hell's gates. Well their little venture gave me... time to think. I realised I owed you an apology."

His statement hit you like a kick in the gut and you started to tremble. The sheets beneath your palms suddenly felt rough like sandpaper, as though gold had turned to dust. Crowley hadn't moved, his back still facing you. It was like a weight had lifted itself from you and suddenly you felt as light as air. Never in your lifetime had you expected a demon to apologise, especially this one. Your eyes followed the freckles dotted along his skin like stars in the sky, creating your own little constellations in your mind. After placing the bloody needle still in your hands on the bedside table, cherry wood like everything else, you did something that took the two of you by surprise. Long fingers curled over Crowley's chilled shoulder as you closed the gap between you and the demon, the bed squeaking softly with the shifting weight, and gingerly you pressed your lips against his back.

"I can't forgive you." You rubbed your forehead against the place you'd kissed. "Not yet. But it's a start."

"I had intended on something a little more romantic. Hence the candles and the hotel—"

"The first place we met." The smile you gave was small but genuine. The thought warmed you more than the candles ever could. You shifted to rest your chin on Crowley's shoulder. "So if Abaddon's such a problem, why go back to Hell?"

"There was something I'd misplaced." He pushed his hand into the pocket of his trousers and pulled out a spent bullet. The little bronze thing was tarnished and scratched, but easy for you to recognise as the bullets your own gun chewed through on a daily basis.

"Is that?"

"The first bullet you shot me with." A slight tinge of a smile grasped at his mouth.

You breathed out a laugh. "I thought you weren't sentimental?"

"I'm not."

You rolled your eyes, giving Crowley a hard, stern look. "What did I say about lying?"

* * *

 **Author's Notes**  
 _Written for the prompt 'kiss on the back'_  
 _for anonymous on tumblr. Had lots of fun writing this!_  
 _Inspired by 'Clean' by Taylor Swift and 'Morphine' by Lights._


End file.
